"What are you doing here?"
"Well, I'd say escaping the same distasteful fate as you, except it seems you'd rather catch up with old friends."
"This is none of your affair."
"He has a point, Lunto," Gailus interrupted. "Sunrise isn't so far off. Your father told me he'll be waiting in your grandfather's shadow. Anything more you need to know he can tell you. You should join him, while you still can."
Two horses were already out of their stalls and saddled, their reins wrapped loosely round a post. Gailus freed the nearer set and passed it to Alvantes, who led his new mount out into the courtyard. The second Gailus handed to me.
Did that mean I'd been included in Alvantes's escape plan? That however he'd secured his freedom, he'd intended to take me along with him? If so, I wasn't about to get sentimental. It wasn't as if I'd needed any help. Well, not except for the locked door, anyway… and maybe the guard… and…
My steed was good enough to divert me with a shrill snort. He was eyeing me nervously. No doubt it was a novel and unwelcome experience to be dragged from his stall in the middle of the night. I stroked his nose and whispered a few soothing words in his ear while I led him outside.
Alvantes swung into the saddle and I did likewise. My horse took a couple of quick sidesteps and then settled.
"Thank you, Gailus," Alvantes said. "Take care."
The senator smiled, an expression more sinister than mirthful in the lamplight. "I'm a politician. I'm always careful."
We set out at a trot, heading back towards the gatehouse. I tried to assure myself that being on horseback made my disguise more convincing. Perhaps it did – but only fractionally. I was still wearing an ill-fitting uniform, I doubted my riding style would have passed muster, and speaking more than a couple of words would reveal my Castovalian accent. All told, if the urge to panic had retreated for the moment, it hadn't gone far.
Trying to distract myself, I hissed at Alvantes the most pressing of the many questions I had. "I take it you had nothing to do with the dead guard then?"
Alvantes started. "What? Where?"
"At the bottom of the staircase." My brain filled in another gap in the events of the last few minutes. "If you'd turned right instead of going straight on, you might have tripped over him."
"That spells trouble."
"A dead body spells trouble? With those deductive skills, I can see how you flew up the ranks to guardcaptain."
Alvantes dropped his voice to a tremor. "Quiet. Slow down."
He reined his mount to a steady walk. I followed suit, though the reduced speed only heightened my unease. The darkness in the mouth of the gatehouse was all-consuming. As we broke the threshold, my breath snagged. Thanks to the decline, all I could see amidst the thick gloom was a half circle of dim light far ahead – as though I were staring out the throat of some great monster.
"Late business?" The words came from nowhere and hung like phantoms. I couldn't say for sure if they were meant as challenge or polite inquiry. To me they seemed an accusation coughed up by the dark itself.
Fortunately, Alvantes's nerve was stronger than mine. "So it appears," he said. "And us supposed to be on day watch."
To stay in character, I yawned exaggeratedly. That, at least, I could do without giving away my accent.
"Could be a worse night for it," pointed out the disembodied voice.
"There's that," Alvantes agreed.
When no further inanities materialised from the gloom, I heard Alvantes urge his horse to a walk. Once more, I followed his lead.
Seconds later, we were in the open air once more.
Here were the gardens, clambering in elegant tiers to either side of the wide concourse, split in turn by islands of tilting palms and ornate fountains that still chuckled to themselves despite the hour. If anything, the countless stepped beds of flowerbeds smelled more fragrantly than they had in the day. The way the night muted their colours into endless shades of blue gave them a simple elegance they'd lacked in sunlight.
Less pleasant were the silhouettes of guards patrolling the parapets. Of course, it made sense that the defences would grow more vigorous as we neared the exit. On the other hand, it made equal sense that the further we got, the more likely anyone seeing us would assume we were meant to be there.
"Keep slow," hissed Alvantes.
This time, I didn't need to be told. A little of my courage had come back. We'd gotten farther than I'd have imagined possible. If I could keep my head, I might have a chance – well, to keep my head, for a while longer anyway.
It didn't take us long to reach the second gatehouse. My eyes had grown better adjusted by then. I could just make out the dim forms of two guards waiting within the entrance. One greeted us with a disinterested "Evening," which Alvantes returned in the same tone.
Two more guards waited at the far end. They acknowledged us with a nod.
We were through.
The final courtyard was, if possible, even bigger than those we'd already passed through. Various buildings clustered round its edges, and a few even had plots of cultivated ground attached, as though someone had caught up a village and scattered it like dice against the walls. I guessed these must be homes of craftsmen and farmers whose goods were in constant demand at the palace.
The guards upon the walls were even more numerous than those above the gardens. Yet they barely deigned to notice us. I felt almost courageous. I'd been right. The fact that we'd made it this far and were heading out rather than in was enough to shield us from suspicion. One more courtyard, one more gate, and we were free.
"Keep steady," muttered Alvantes. "Follow my lead."
"I get it."
"But if I say go…"
"I get it."
Growing more and more accustomed to our assumed identities, we walked our horses across the vast expanse of paved ground as though it were natural as breathing for us to be there. Only as we drew near the last gatehouse did my nerves begin to trouble me again. For unlike the previous sets of gates, these were closed. There was no way we were getting past without a confrontation.
This time, Alvantes initiated it. With impressive feigned confidence, he called, "Gates open, ho."
There was a small room built into the walls next to the gate. It had its own door, and even a narrow window. A tall guard stepped out and asked, "Late errand?"
"For the stablemaster. Says if he doesn't get some liniment for his back he'll have to close up and take the whole day off. Where we'll find it at this hour is anyone's guess."
"Sounds about right for old Pieto." The guard motioned through the small window. An instant later, a hidden mechanism began to rattle and grind. The gates parted, and split by slow degrees. A sliver of city grew in their absence.
Strange to think I'd been awed by the wonders of the palace only a few hours ago. Now, that growing shard of nocturnal street seemed a thousand times more beautiful. Watching it, my heart swelled with joy.
"You two new here then?"
Exuberance turned leaden in my chest.
"He is," said Alvantes. "I just don't have a memorable face."
It sounded convincing. But I couldn't see the guard's expression. He still had his hand raised. He could halt the opening gates at any moment.
"What did you say your names were again?"
"Go!" cried Alvantes. At the same time, he spurred his mount forward.
I didn't need to be told twice.
Alvantes made it through the opening with the barest clearance. The noise of the gate mechanism had changed, assumed a deeper, more grinding pitch. Even as my horse surged forward, I realised with horror that the gap was no longer widening. In fact, it was contracting.
Time warped. Somehow, the gates were closing with unfeasible speed, whereas my horse was plunging through treacle. I tried to scream something motivating, but no sound came. I could feel the animal wanting to shy, lest he dash his brains out on the reinforced wood. I lashed his side with my heels. He gained
speed – but we were still too slow. Alvantes, ahead, seemed an impossible distance away. The street might have belonged to another world.
My mount's head entered the waning breach. Forced to commit, he surged again. A flash of fire washed my thighs as they scraped the wood to either side. I gritted my teeth, crushed myself flat and narrow.
He gave a brief, high shriek. It could only mean we were trapped, about to be crushed by the inexorable apparatus of the gates…
No. Still moving. Cobbles flickered by beneath his feet. I glanced back.
The gates were shut. The tip of the poor beast's tail had stayed with them.
But we were through.
Alvantes was still riding hard ahead, though there was no way we could be followed immediately. Closing the gates had backfired, and bought us a breathing space from any pursuers. I encouraged my horse to forget his foreshortened tail with another tap of my heels, and did my best to close the distance.
We were in the crescent of temples that curved around the palace, on a wide thoroughfare that appeared to stretch the entire length of Pasaeda. By the time I caught up with Alvantes, he'd slowed slightly, and was turning his mount into a side road.
He rode hard for the next few minutes, leading us by twists and turns through the starlit streets until I'd altogether lost my sense of direction or any notion of where we were. Eventually, he slowed to let me draw alongside. We were approaching a small square. At its centre was a circle of cultivated woodland, and in the midst of that a squat building of white marble. From its roof rose a statue, also of marble, representing some ancient warrior brandishing his sword towards the heavens.
"Thanks for the tour," I said, "but was this really the time?"
"It won't have taken them long to follow," Alvantes replied. "At least that route should keep them chasing their tails awhile."
If Alvantes had really bought us time, I felt I was overdue an answer to some crucial questions. "So what's going on here? If you and your father have cooked up some conspiracy, I've a right to know."
"Conspiracy? It's nothing like that."
"Yet one minute you're locked in a prison cell and the next you're catching up with old friends."
Alvantes shrugged resignedly. "All right. As you must have realised, my father's a senator in the Court. Back in the cell, he passed me a message. A simple code."
"A code?"
"Something we settled on years ago. A message hidden in the final words of each sentence."
How had I missed it? I'd been so quick to write Alvantes Senior off as senile that I'd hardly bothered to consider what he was saying. From what I could remember of his diatribe, I could even piece together a little of what he'd told his son. There had been directions in there – and hadn't he mentioned something about the stable? All those strange allusions to times made a lot more sense now.
Thinking back brought another realisation – one I'd have made at the time if only I'd been paying attention. "He gave you the key to your shackle, didn't he? When he hit you."
"Yes."
"Then he arranged for the door to be left open and the guard to be drugged."
"Something like that. If the details are so important to you, ask him yourself."
We'd almost reached the wooded glen and the small columned building with its militant passenger. It struck me almost in the same moment that it must be a tomb, and that a figure on horseback was just visible in the thick arboreal shadows.
"Good morning, Father," said Alvantes.
Alvantes's father walked his horse out to meet us. "Gailus passed you my message, then?" he said. "I half-expected him to forget."
Alvantes tipped his head towards the statue. "He remembered. Grandfather, at least, looks well."
"Sometimes I envy him. He fought his battles in simpler times."
"Probably they didn't seem that way to him."
"Perhaps. Perhaps the fights never seem straightforward when you're in the midst of them." Alvantes's father sounded weary – more so even than a man of his age would normally be for staying up all night. "It's good to see you free. But you should never have come to Pasaeda, Lunto."
"I did what I had to do," said Alvantes.
"Maybe. Either way, you're ahead of schedule. I take it they know you've escaped?"
Alvantes nodded.
"No time for pleasantries then. We'll talk as we ride." Alvantes Senior turned his horse's nose toward a road other than the one we'd arrived by, and set off at a trot. He waited for us to match his speed before he continued, "Panchetto's loss was a terrible blow. For the King and the kingdom. For all of us."
Alvantes hung his head, much as he'd done when they last spoke. "I know. Believe me."
"I'm willing to accept that you'd have saved Panchetto if you possibly could. I think the King would be too, were he in his right mind. Moaradrid's rebellion and the uproar in the far north have been poisoning his thoughts for a long time now; and there are always elements in the Court ready to inject fresh bile."
"Is there any way I can help?" asked Alvantes.
"Absolutely not." His father's voice had acquired a note of iron forcefulness. "Lunto, listen to me now, if it's the only time you ever do. The best and only thing you can do is to go home. Help Altapasaeda however you can. We'll send aid if we're able, but don't rely on it. In fact, for the time being, anticipate the worst."
"What will you do?"
Alvantes Senior shook his head. It struck me more as a response to circumstances in general than to Alvantes's question. "His Highness must not be allowed to become a tyrant. There are many of us in the Court who strive to keep him on the higher path."
By then we were halfway down a long street, quite narrow by the standards of Pasaeda, hemmed on either side by two-storey buildings fronting directly to the road. They were still impressive, but considerably less so than the manors I'd seen on the way in. Perhaps here was the answer to my wonderings as to where Pasaeda's not-quite-so-wealthy citizens resided. Ahead, the walls were clearly visible about the rooftops, no more than a couple of minutes' ride away. Our freedom was truly within reach.
Pulling just ahead, Alvantes Senior wheeled his horse. "We're near the gates," he said. He motioned skyward, where the first light of sunrise was gilding the rooftops. "Unless someone's had the foresight to pass on the alert, they'll be opening the gates at any minute. Go, while you still can."
"The King's bound to realise you helped us," said Alvantes.
"He'll see reason eventually. He'll understand my motives."
"And if he doesn't?"
"Then he's still the King," said Alvantes Senior. "Go, Lunto."
There was strain in his voice that hadn't been there an instant ago – controlled but unmistakeable. I glanced at Alvantes, saw I wasn't the only one to have noticed it.
"Come with us," he said. "For a while, at least. Give the King time to calm down."
"It isn't for you or me to predict the moods of a King."
"Father…"
"Don't insult me by asking me to further dishonour our family. I told you to go." If the words were angry, his father's tone betrayed them. The strain had become something more. Could it be fear?
Whatever it was, it sent shivers through me. "Come on," I told Alvantes.
I could see the conflict in his face. But his father's was an inscrutable mask, offering no room for argument.
"Goodbye," Alvantes said.
"Go!" Alvantes Senior stirred his horse into motion and rode swiftly past us, back in the direction we'd come.
After a moment's pause, Alvantes encouraged his own mount forward. Relieved that the family drama was done with, I followed.
We were almost at the end of the road before we heard Alvantes Senior's voice again. It was faint, but there was a clear note of remonstrance in it, as though he were arguing with someone.
I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to look. There was no good reason he'd be arguing with anyone in the street at this hour. Alvantes had already jerked
to a halt – as though the sound were a shock of thunder that his gaze had sought out. His expression showed something worse than my own mounting alarm.
It was grief. It was the grief of loss.
There was no way I could have known what to expect. Yet when I looked round and saw them, I felt only a sick sense of inevitability. Stick and Stone, the King's chequered jester-assassins, had come to a halt just ahead of Alvantes's father. They looked absurd, dressed up like that in the middle of the street, all the more so because their horses were piebald – one black but splashed with white and the other white with stains of black. That absurdity did nothing to make them less terrifying. If anything, the opposite was true.
Crown Thief Page 19